


Enjambment

by besanii, sarahyyy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - How to Get Away with Murder Fusion, Angst, Denial, Law School, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do me one favour, darling.” Arthur hums sleepily. Eames kisses his temple and smiles into his hair. “Don’t regret this in the morning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjambment

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct result of watching How To Get Away With Murder (particularly Frank/Laurel before episode eight >.>) and spending a week together in New Zealand in each other's constant presence. Our first co-written fic ever, so hopefully this all worked out!

They barely make it through the door before Arthur pounces.

He shoves Eames up against the door, not caring that the keys are probably still in the lock, and presses their mouths together. The angle makes it difficult, and he feels Eames laugh into the kiss as their teeth clack together awkwardly. There are hands on his hips, steadying him, then Eames tilts his head slightly and _oh_ , that’s perfect.  Arthur groans appreciatively.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames says, breaking away to pepper kisses along Arthur’s jaw. “Fuck, you’re eager, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Arthur snaps. He grips Eames’ shoulder with one hand and presses him harder against the door; his other hand snakes around Eames’ neck and drags him into another kiss. “Stop talking.”

Eames hums in amusement and kisses back obligingly. The laziness of the gesture is almost irritating – how _dare_ he make fun, when he’s _here_ and it’s clear from the gradually hardening line of his cock in his trousers that Eames wants this _just as much_ as Arthur does. Arthur presses into the kiss more insistently, a low growl in his throat that threatens to bubble over into a snarl as the kiss turns harsh and demanding.

The hands at his hips tighten to the point of painful and Arthur pulls away with a hiss. He looks up to meet Eames’ oddly stern expression.

“None of that now,” Eames tells him. “Play nice.”

Arthur _does_ snarl then, baring his teeth. He moves to kiss Eames again, pulling him down by the nape of his neck. Eames doesn’t budge. Instead, Arthur finds himself being pushed back, back, back until he hits the wall, with Eames crowding close. They’re pressed together from chest to thigh, their faces a scant breath away from each other.

“I said _play nice_.” The rumble of Eames’ voice sends shivers down Arthur’s spine. He licks his lips and glares up at Eames. “That’s a good boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” Arthur snaps, without heat. Eames’ laughter ghosts over Arthur’s cheek and he finds himself chasing those full lips despite himself. “Eames–”

He’s cut off when Eames leans forward and catches his mouth, taking advantage of Arthur’s parted lips to delve inside and slide their tongues together. A muffled whimper escapes his throat before he can catch himself; he tightens his hold on the nape of Eames’ neck and presses himself closer. Eames growls in approval, surging forward and tugging at Arthur’s hips until he finally catches on and hitches himself up against Eames’ body.

Eames’ hands slide down to palm his arse in response, hoisting him until Arthur is pinned against the wall, the balls of his feet barely brushing the floor. He breaks away with a gasp.

“What – _here?_ ”

“Here,” Eames says. He rolls his hips firmly against Arthur’s arse, eliciting a whine. “Right here.”

 

\--

 

Arthur wakes up with Eames’ arm heavy across his waist, snoring gently. His lips and nose are buried in Arthur’s hair, his body warm against Arthur’s back. It’s six thirty in the morning, according to the clock on the bedside table beside a glass of water, and Arthur is tempted to just close his eyes and drift back into sleep. His traitorous mind, however, doesn’t let him, and he tenses as vivid memories of last night’s events return.

Arthur is in bed with Eames. This is not okay.

He gingerly removes the hand draped across his body, mindful not to make any sudden movements for fear for waking Eames, and slides himself out of bed. He freezes, half-standing, when Eames groans and turns to bury his face into the empty pillow Arthur had just vacated. Arthur relaxes when it’s clear Eames is not awake, and sets about searching for his scattered clothes.

His pants are in the bedroom doorway, where Eames had tossed them after he had wrangled Arthur onto his back. His shirt is in a bundle on the floor, too creased to be salvaged; he pulls both of these on quickly, giving up on locating his briefs in his haste to get dressed. He reaches down to pull on his shoes.

Eames has thankfully not stirred.

Arthur contemplates, for a moment, whether or not to leave a note. _Thanks for a great night._ He winces and decides against the idea. But he does allow himself to pause at the bedroom door on his way out, closing his eyes to catch the faint hum of Eames’ snoring, his chest tight. A part of him aches for Eames to wake up, to open his eyes and call out – _Leaving so soon, Arthur?_ – knowing that, if he did, Arthur would stay in a heartbeat.

He lingers with a hand clutching the doorjamb, eyes closed, daring to hope.

Eames sleeps on.

Arthur leaves.

 

\--

 

Eames is everywhere – his hands, his lips, his breath, his body – completely engulfing Arthur’s senses.

He gives back as good as good as he’s got, burying his hands into Eames’ short hair, tracing the line of his jaw with his lips, relishing in the scratch of stubble against the sensitive skin. He grins at Eames’ groan and nips sharply at the skin just behind Eames’ jaw, beneath his ear. The hands at his arse tighten.

“Tease,” Eames rasps, sinking his teeth into the juncture of Arthur’s neck and shoulder. Arthur shudders. “I never pegged you as a biter.”

“Funny, I could say the same for you.”

Eames’ grin when he pulls away is wild, almost feral. His hands slide together, then down, each movement imbued with intent, until he’s grasping the backs of Arthur’s thighs and pulling. Arthur goes willingly, bracing himself against the wall and wrapping his legs around Eames’ waist, groaning when the hard lines of their cocks press together. He closes his eyes and tips his head back against the wall, bites down on his bottom lip to stifle the sounds threatening to spill from his lips, and feels Eames laugh against his neck.

“Don’t hold back on me now, Arthur,” he says. He rolls his hips; Arthur whimpers. “That’s it.”

“Fuck you.” Arthur digs his nails into the taut muscle of Eames’ shoulder as his hips jerk into the motion. “F- _fuck_ , Eames–”

“I could leave you like this,” Eames breathes into his ear. Arthur’s eyes fly open, his lips part in a silent gasp. “Desperate, turned on – you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So turned on but unable to come?”

Arthur shakes his head, tries to pull Eames closer, mouths the words against his lips. “No, no – come _on_ , Eames–”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Eames pulls away, tracing complicated patterns onto Arthur’s neck with his tongue. “What’s the magic word?”

Arthur growls in frustration, but Eames has him pinned. He can’t move his hips, and he can’t pull Eames closer. He glares and snaps, to no avail. Eames hums low in his ear, amused, and rolls his hips more deliberately. Arthur moans.

“ _Please_ ,” he cries.

Eames’ hand comes up to yank at the hair on the back of Arthur’s nape, forcing him to meet his eyes. His expression is dark and dangerous and Arthur has never been more turned on in his life. He follows the movement of Eames’ lips as they form a single word:

“ _Finally_.”

 

\--

He knows the exact moment Eames gets into the office even though he’s pouring over case files trying to find a precedent case for Mal. Eames’ footsteps are heavy today, and the moment he goes through the doorway, he halts, presumably because he sees Arthur, Arthur thinks. He doesn’t look up to check if he’s right, because what if he is? What then?

Last night didn’t happen. Last night can’t ever happen again.

“Darling,” Eames says, and Arthur forces himself not to look up, to flip a page and focus on his job instead. “Darling, look at me.”

Arthur doesn’t. _Can’t_.

He hears Eames walks towards him, can see him stop right by his desk.

“ _Arthur_.”

Arthur looks up slowly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Eames?” he asks. “I have to find a precedent for this case first, but if you have any work that needs to be delegated, I’ll take them too.”

Eames stares at him. “Is this how we’re going to play it? We’re going to pretend nothing happened?” 

“On a second thought,” Arthur says curtly, “I think I’m going to be busier than anticipated with this research. If you have any work that needs to be done, I think it would be best if you let Ariadne know instead.”

“You can’t just pretend last night didn’t happen,” Eames grits out lowly. “You can’t just _leave_ like that.”

“Mr. Eames, I really am very busy right now,” Arthur says.

“We need to talk about this,” Eames tells him.

Arthur steels himself, looks up straight into Eames’ eyes, and says, “There is nothing to talk about.”

 

\--

 

Eames has Arthur's belt and pants undone in seconds and is tugging on the elastic of Arthur's briefs to free his aching cock. Arthur shouts and jerks his hips forward when Eames' hand closes hot and tight, around his cock, and his eyes roll back. Eames' lips are at his neck, not speaking, just mouthing breathlessly against the sweat-damp skin.

"God, you're gorgeous. _Fuck_ , Arthur, I can't believe – I've had _dreams_ about getting you out of these fucking trousers –"

"Then do it," Arthur says, scrabbling at the buttons on Eames' shirt. "Just don't rip them."

"Is that a challenge, darling?" Eames laughs, reaching around to tug the trousers over the curve of Arthur's arse. His hand curves around the firm flesh possessively. "They _have_ been a  rather cruel tease these past few weeks."

Arthur lets out a strangled yelp when a thick finger teases at his rim, dry. His hands fist in the collar of Eames' now-open shirt in an aborted attempt to push it from his shoulders. Eames catches his mouth and soothes him with gentle kisses.

"Easy, darling, I've got you."

Arthur hisses when the finger returns to circle his entrance again. "Don't you have lube or something?"

"In my back pocket," Eames says into his collar bone. "If you wouldn't mind."

Arthur huffs in irritation, but he reaches into the back pocket of Eames trousers for the small packet of lube. He tears it open and pours it into Eames' waiting palm, unhooking his legs from Eames’ waist in order to step out of his trousers and briefs and to kick off his shoes and socks. He gathers them into a bundle and tosses it carelessly away, before Eames descends upon him again and he is pressed chest-first against the wall with Eames against his back. At the first brush of a slicked finger, he moans loudly and rocks back into the intrusion.

He takes it to the second knuckle in one go, gritting his teeth against the burn and stretch, forcing himself to relax. Eames presses kisses to the back of his neck; the coarse hairs on his chin scratching at the delicate skin makes Arthur whine louder. He thrusts himself back on the finger inside him desperately.

“Come _on_ – give me another,” he pants, throwing a glare over his shoulder at Eames. “Stop taking your goddamn time, Eames.”

“Impatient,” Eames tuts, nipping at his earlobe. Arthur shudders. “So _eager_.”

He adds another finger, which has Arthur gasping in pleasure. Satisfied that Arthur was in no pain, Eames starts thrusting them in a punishing rhythm, crooking his fingers as he pulls away, until Arthur shouts and his knees buckle. He catches the words _there, there, oh god right there_ , and complies, angling his arm to thrust into that same spot over and over again.

Arthur’s breath catches in his throat with every thrust and he’s practically sobbing with it by the time Eames adds a third finger. He reaches a hand back to clasp Eames neck, legs spread wide, pulling his face forward for a messy, open-mouth kiss.

 

\--

 

Eames needs to stop. 

He’s been fidgety since they left the office; he was tapping his fingers against his leg the whole walk to his car in the basement, and he’s doing it again against the steering wheel now, tapping out a rhythm that Arthur can’t hear, and Arthur can’t pretend that he’s not stuck in a car for a two hour journey out to serve a subpoena when he keeps getting reminded that _Eames is here_.

“Will you stop that,” he ends up snapping. 

“Stop what?” Eames asks, and doesn’t stop drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He doesn’t turn over to look at Arthur. “Stop acting like a dick? I think you have us confused, darling.”

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur bites out. “Stop talking. Stop moving around. Just stop.”

Eames makes a noise, noncommittal, and then starts humming out a tune.

Arthur closes his eyes, counts to three, picks up the file in his lap and runs through the papers in it, checking through the scheduled court date and the witness’s name on the document for mistakes even though he’s already done it countless times in the office. He wills himself not to say anything else to Eames. Eames is angry at him, and he’s lashing out, hoping to get a rise out of Arthur. Arthur can’t react; Arthur isn’t going to react.

Eames manages to keep it up for another fifteen minutes before he falls silent.

“Ariadne says you’re thinking about taking up another job,” Eames says quietly as he makes a left turn. “You didn’t mention you were.”

Arthur thinks about not replying, but he needs to make sure that Eames doesn’t relay wrong information to Mal. “Saito offered. I said I would think about it.”

Eames is quiet for a long moment. “Is it because of me?” he asks finally. “Mal likes you, you’re one of the brightest interns she’s had in a really long time, and I think you like working with her too. You shouldn’t give that up because of me.”

The subpoena documents in Arthur’s hand crinkle under his grip and he loosens his hold on it quickly. “It’s not because of you,” Arthur tells Eames. “Saito made me a good offer. I _have_ to think about it.”

“Don’t–" Eames starts, and then trails off.

Arthur’s heart is pounding in his chest, loud and fast. He doesn’t want Eames to tell him not to go. He doesn’t think he will be able to be rational about this if Eames does. 

“Don’t take this, _us_ , into account when you’re considering the offer,” Eames says finally. “I’m not always going to be like this. I’ve had my heart broken before. I’ll be back to normal in no time and it’ll be like this whole thing never happened, just the way you want it to be. I won’t always be bitter and angry.” He huffs out a laugh that sounds almost sad to Arthur. “I’ll get over you.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what he _can_ say to that.

“I was looking forward to the morning after,” Eames says after a little while. “I was going to make you breakfast. Scrambled eggs on toast. And coffee, of course. I would’ve made you your own pot of coffee, brought it to you in bed. I would’ve woken you up with kisses.” Arthur lets out a shaky breath at that, but Eames doesn’t comment on it, just talks over it. “Your shoulder first, I think. Then your neck. A few on your cheek, where your dimples are. The tip of your nose. Your lips.”

Arthur lets the papers drop to his lap and clenches his fists to stop them from shaking. “Eames–"

“It could’ve been good,” Eames says. “Instead I woke up alone and had to search the fucking apartment twice because I was so sure you wouldn’t have just left like that. We could’ve been _so good_.” He slams his palms on the steering wheel, and then laughs. “But it isn’t, of course it isn’t. What was I even fucking thinking?”

“ _Eames_ ,” Arthur says. “I–”

“Yeah,” Eames cuts him off. “Let’s just focus on the job, yeah?”

They finish the journey in silence.  

 

\--

 

The fingers – and Eames – are suddenly gone, and Arthur is left leaning against the wall, every breath accompanied by a low whine. He casts bleary eyes around for Eames and calls his name hoarsely, wide-eyed and dazed.

Large hands curl around his hips possessively, steering him away from the wall and towards the bedroom. He stumbles forward as he goes, mindlessly aroused and weak in the knees, acutely aware of Eames’ presence behind him, guiding him. They pause in the bedroom doorway so Arthur can extricate himself from the tangle of trousers on the floor, before Eames quite literally sweeps him off his feet and carries him over the threshold.

"Eames, what–"

Arthur yelps as he is tossed bodily onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo and momentarily winded. He cranes his head up to glare at Eames, but the rebuke sticks in his throat at the sight of the other man methodically stripping off his shirt and pants and dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor. He's fumbling at his own shirt and cursing the buttons when Eames climbs on top of him to help

Now completely naked, Arthur wastes no time wrapping his limbs around Eames' torso, moaning as their heated skin finally meet. Eames bears him down onto the mattress, one hand sliding down the slope of his back to delve into the crease of his arse, the other twining into Arthur's hair to tilt his face up for a kiss. 

"God, you're gorgeous," Eames rasps, three fingers back in Arthur's arse. Arthur's laugh trails off into a high-pitched whine when he crooks his fingers.

"You – said that already," he says. "Not gonna mean much if you – _ah_ – keep saying it."

"Not if it's the truth." Eames noses at his ear, humming. "Grab us a condom, love. And the lube, while you're at it. Bedside table."

Arthur watches in rapt attention as he tears open the foil packet with his teeth and rolls it on with practised efficiency, before pouncing on top of Arthur. He grabs Arthur's legs and spreads them wide, taking a moment to give his straining cock a few quick strokes. Arthur's back arches off the bed with a strangled gasp.

"Not gonna last if you do that," he warns, voice tight.

"Fair enough," Eames chuckles. He reaches for the bottle of lube to slick his cock. "I'm not going to go slow for you."

"Don't want you to," Arthur shoots back. He shifts his hips until it nudges Eames' cock. "Now hurry up and fuck me."

Eames groans and sinks into the impossibly tight heat of Arthur's arse. He means to stop part way, allowing for Arthur to acclimatise himself to the intrusion, but Arthur tilts his hips up and into it, and takes Eames to the hilt.They both groan aloud at the sensation.

" _Fuck_ , you're tight," Eames grunts. He sets a brutal pace, hooking Arthur's knees over his own elbows and pulling his whole body towards him to match his thrusts. "How are you this tight?"

Arthur gasps and moans, twisting the sheets under his hands. "Don't – _ah_ – don't actually do this – _hnngh_ – with just anyone."

He whines low in protest when Eames pauses, propping himself up onto his elbows to see what had caught Eames' attention. Instead he meets the other man's gaze, lit by a sudden burning intensity that makes his throat constrict and his chest ache. He averts his eyes and turns his face away to hide his mortification.

_He knows, he knows, he knows…_

"Arthur…"

"Get on with it, Mr Eames," Arthur says harshly, voice tight. "We don't have all day."

They do, actually – they're not needed in the office until tomorrow, and Arthur is under strict orders from Mal to take a "well-deserved break". But neither of them mention it, not when Eames is still looking at him with a mixture of wonder and tenderness  – _and pity_ , his mind supplies – that makes Arthur turn his head, shame burning high in his cheeks. He closes his eyes, feels the burning behind his lids and fights to suppress them and maybe Eames _does_ take pity on him then, because he clenches his jaw and starts thrusting his hips again.

It's too much, Arthur thinks, throwing an arm over his eyes. He's assaulted on all sides by a barrage of sensations and his mind is blank, save for the one name, continuously, _Eameseameseameseames_....and then he's coming with a choked cry between their bodies.

"Eames, oh god – _Eames_ –!"

He's only dimly aware of Eames groaning through Arthur's orgasm, pressing Arthur's knees up to his chest until Arthur's folded almost in half beneath his weight, each thrust growing with savagery and force. There are lips at Arthur's neck, mouthing a hot, wet line to his ear, and Eames is speaking. Arthur can't make out the words in his post-coital state, but he shudders and whimpers at dark timbre of Eames' voice rumbling in his ear.

He knows the exact moment when Eames' orgasm hits by the way he chokes and the erratic pattern of his thrusts. Strong arms slide under his back and crush him against Eames' solid chest, as if trying to meld their bodies together. Arthur brings his hands up to clutch Eames' shoulders for support, burying his face in the crook of Eames' neck as he locks their hips together with a loud cry.

He thinks he hears Eames say his name as he extricates himself from Arthur, but he drifts off before he can finish the thought.

 

\--

 

Mal is waiting for them when they get back to the office.

“We served the subpoena,” Eames says before Mal can say anything, and heads for the stairs. “Arthur will take care of the service affidavit.”

Arthur watches Eames make his way up the steps, chest tight with what feels like regret, and turns back to Mal. She is frowning at him.

“Are you going to go after him?” she asks, a single eyebrow elegantly arched. 

Arthur swallows. “I can’t,” he tells her. “It’s – It’s not professional.”

Mal huffs a laugh and waives her hand dismissively. “Excuses,” she says.

“He’ll get over it,” Arthur says quietly, and pointedly doesn’t think about why just the thought of Eames getting over him makes his mouth dry and his heart ache a little. “He said so himself.”

Mal hums. “He will,” she agrees. “Eames is very resilient.”

He tries for a smile. “Good.”

“Do you want him to get over you, though, Arthur?” Mal asks.

“I don't know,” Arthur confesses quietly. “It's not easy.”

Mal smiles. “Love never is.”

“I'm not in love with him,” Arthur says, because he isn't. He doesn't know enough of Eames to be in love with him; he thinks he could, thinks he could very easily fall in love with Eames, thinks that he might want to fall in love with Eames.

Mal's smile widens, as if she can read Arthur's thoughts off his face. "Go fix it," she tells him, and pulls the files out of his hand. "Eames is terrible to work with when he's heartbroken."

Arthur goes.

 

\--

 

Eames doesn't answer when Arthur first knocks, and for a moment, Arthur thinks about turning back and walking away, thinks about how it would be so much easier to just go back downstairs and drown himself with work, thinks about how he isn't good at this — at having _feelings_ — but he squares his jaw, stands his ground, and raps his fist on Eames' door again, because he likes Eames. He messed it up the first time, but he wants to fix it now.

Eames opens the door. “What?” he bites out, and then makes a move to close the door when he sees Arthur. 

“No, Eames, wait, please,” Arthur says, and Eames lets out a noise of frustration before he steps away from the door and goes back into his office.

Arthur follows him in and closes the door behind them. “Eames, I–”

“What are you doing here, Arthur?” Eames asks, sighing wearily. “Are you here to remind me to be professional when we're at work?” He snorts. “My lack of professionalism is not going to be a problem any more when you take up Saito's offer, no?” 

“You were right,” Arthur blurts out. “I...I like working here.”

Something in Eames' eyes soften, but only for a split second. “Do you now?”

“I do,” Arthur says. “Mal is a good mentor.” _And you're here_ , he wants to say. “It's a good learning environment. I like the competition between the other interns. I'm doing well here. I don't want to leave.”

Eames' face is carefully blank. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Do you want me to leave instead?”

“ _No_ ,” Arthur says vehemently. And then, softer, calmer, “No, I don't want you to leave.” He swallows, and takes a step back, leaning against the door for support. “You were right,” he repeats. “I messed up, I _know_ I messed up, and I'm sorry. I've never done anything like this before, and fuck, it's terrifying, and I haven't planned for this to happen, and I don't do well when I'm blindsided, and I messed everything up, and I don't know how to fix it.”

Eames doesn't say anything, just looks at Arthur.

“I want to fix it, Eames,” he says, and isn't proud of the way his voice breaks towards the end. “Tell me how to fix it.”

“What are you saying, Arthur?” Eames asks.

“I'm saying that you were right,” Arthur says. “It could've been good. And I want to find out how good. I want to do that, with you.”

Eames hums. “And you won't spook and leave this time?" 

“I won't,” Arthur breathes out. “God, I won't, I promise. I didn't want to. I wanted to stay, I wanted to stay so much, Eames.”

Eames moves towards him, crossing the room in a few steps, and then he's close again, close enough for Arthur to be able to feel the warmth radiating from Eames, to see the dark circles under his eyes clearly. 

“Do you want this the way I do, Arthur?” Eames asks, voice low, fingers ghosting over Arthur's cheek, not exactly touching, the look in his eyes severe. “Do you want this as much as I do?”

“Yes,” Arthur says. “God, yes, Eames, I fucking like you. I fucking like you so much, Eames. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you the entire day, and it's terrifying how much I like you and–"

Arthur's words die out when Eames curves his hand over the back of Arthur's nape.

“Eames,” he breathes, when Eames leans in close. “I'm so sorry.”

Eames kisses him.

 

\--

 

Eames pads quietly back to the bed, where he places a glass of water on the nightstand. Arthur lies exactly where he'd left him, rumpled and sated and tanged invitingly in the sheets. His eyes are closed, his breathing even, and Eames knows without checking that Arthur is almost asleep.

He sits gingerly on the edge of the bed and hesitates before reaching out to brush a stray curl from where it's fallen over Arthur's closed eyes. A tiny frown creases between Arthur's brow and his lips purse slightly before he sighs, relaxing into Eames' touch. The sight grips Eames with a fierce longing for Arthur – beautiful, brilliant, _darling_ Arthur, whose future is much too bright to be marred by someone like Eames – and he aches with the selfish desire to preserve this moment of tenderness forever.

But it's Arthur's choice in the end, because Eames has known from the moment he'd set eyes on him that he'd been ruined for everyone else.

 _Tomorrow_ , he promises. _Tomorrow I'll make him breakfast and we'll talk and he'll see that we can be great together._

The ache in his chest lightens with the thought. _Tomorrow_. He slides into bed beside Arthur and curls around his body, warm and pliant.

“Do me one favour, darling.” Arthur hums sleepily. Eames kisses his temple and smiles into his hair. “Don’t regret this in the morning.”

Arthur snores softly in response.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [besanii's](http://besanii.tumblr.com/), or [sarahyyy's tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
